


Petrichor, or: How to Find Friends and Influence People When All You Have is a Shitty Gossip Blog

by orfaeus (hazy_daisy)



Category: Wanderlust (RP)
Genre: Gen, SO, another adventure in: i don't realize that i project onto my characters as much as i do, bitches also be getting friends and succulents, bitches be sad, but - Freeform, it's really alright, kitt gets the tranquil life that i deserve, kitt's really sad in the beginning but it gets better i promise, sad aro vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazy_daisy/pseuds/orfaeus
Summary: "Most of Kitt’s life subsists in shades of light brown. It’s the color of sun-exposed oak wood, and old wooden flooring, and aging paperbacks, and the one sweater that he pretty much lives in and probably doesn’t wash as much as he should, and it’s comforting, if not a bit dull."Kitt thinks too much. He doesn't talk to enough people to get out of his own head.But, hey, is it really loneliness if it's something you chose?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Petrichor, or: How to Find Friends and Influence People When All You Have is a Shitty Gossip Blog

**Author's Note:**

> rai uses a different style of writing, or; rai's sentences range from fifty words to a hundred and they cannot and will not stop, or; rai doesn't really know how kieran talks, but they're doing their best, or; rai might project some of their emotional issues onto kitt, as well as onto orpheus, but at least they're also projecting their perfect life fantasy onto kitt, too.
> 
> chapter title song: Vowels (and the Importance of Being Me) by HUNNY  
> ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gw-Qlta26hU )  
> [ from kitt's playlist : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5vcjFo8tw1uMqufoGYb2bm ]

Kitt goes into college without many friends. Kitt doesn’t think he minds.

After all, he’s gone his whole life on his own. He’s used to it now. It’s easier, he tells himself—no drama, no fights, no trouble with trying to coordinate hangouts. When he wants to go to the mall, or a movie, he can just go, which is nice, because other people seem very pressed to go somewhere  _ with _ other people, like they can never be seen alone, or else they’ll look… Awkward? Lonely? Whatever it is, Kitt’s either gotten over that feeling or he’s used to it by now, and he feels a lot of freedom in being able to go wherever he wants whenever he wants (even if his heart hurts a little bit when he sees groups of people having fun).

Anyway, college. He goes in without friends, and without much of a plan, either. On the records, he’s getting a degree in history, but he has no idea what he’s going to do with that in the real world, and no real reason for majoring in history in the first place except that he likes old things, like antiques and paintings, and he enjoys learning about people.

When he gets to his dorm room, where he’ll live for his first year there, he unpacks some of his stuff. Mostly clothes. Calls his mom. She’s proud of him, she says, and knows he’ll do well, but she has to go back to work now, so she gives him a quick “I love you” and they hang up.

He thinks his roommate will probably arrive sometime soon, and considers just leaving and going to explore campus or something to postpone the inevitably awkward interaction. His choice is taken away from him, though, when someone opens the door.

The young man who walks into the room looks surprised to see him.

“Hey, how’s it going? Is this your room, too?”

Kitt doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that, so he nods. “Yeah. I mean, that’s what the room assignments said.”

“We’re roommates, then! Nice to meet you.” The newcomer, Kitt’s roommate, opens the door further and steps inside, tossing his stuff (a duffel bag and a backpack) onto the bed that Kitt’s not occupying. “I’m Kieran, by the way, but you can call me Kai. And you?”

“Kitt,” is his means of introduction, and he clears his throat before elaborating further. “Kitt Rhun.”

“Nice name,” says Kieran, all genuine enthusiasm, and Kitt feels more at ease with him despite himself. “Mine’s Sylver. With a y, not an i. That’s what makes it unique.” He winks at Kitt, who’s a bit taken aback, and then turns to his bed to start unpacking his things as if nothing had happened.

Kitt takes one more look at Kieran’s back, at his t-shirt that’s not quite maroon but some other color that Kitt can’t quite place, and tries to decide whether putting in earbuds and holing up on his phone or just leaving the room entirely would be easier. Kieran steals his decision once more when he turns around to strike up another conversation. He sits down on his bed, elbows on his knees, and smiles. Kitt hesitantly returns the smile, with none of the teeth or the ease.

“So. We’re gonna share a room, let’s set some boundaries.”

Kitt raises an eyebrow for a moment, but nods.

“Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page,” Kieran reassures him, grin strong as ever. “For parties, having people over, that sort of thing.”

The derisive snort Kitt lets out is force of habit as much as it is a defense mechanism. “I’m not having any parties, so that’s one thing off the list.”

It’s Kieran’s turn to raise an eyebrow, now, but he presses on. “Are you alright with it, though? I’m fine, if you ever want to have some friends over—as long as you don’t get caught with booze or something and get us in trouble. There’s another thing—drinking, how are you with that?”

Kitt shrugs. “Yeah, go ahead. Let me know beforehand, though, I’d prefer to vacate the area. And I really don’t care if you drink.”

Kieran hesitates for a moment before continuing. “Thoughts on bringing people home for the night?” 

Kitt’s nose wrinkles almost involuntarily. “I’m really not interested in that sort of thing,” he says, which is one of the simpler ways he’s explained it. “And… uh. I’d prefer if you didn’t bring anyone back here.” He almost says that it’s fine if Kieran brings people home, which he’ll probably want to, confident pretty guy that he is, but he reminds himself not to be a fucking doormat. He’s not here to make friends. There’s no reason to extend olive branches that are unnecessary and uncomfortable. If his roommate’s bitter with him, or decides to move out or something, well. That’s not Kitt’s business. It’s easier if he doesn’t try to make friends, anyway. Makes for less disappointment if things don’t work out as planned.

Kieran takes it in stride, though, and nods accommodatingly, shoving him higher up in Kitt’s estimation than planned. “Alright, sure. I’ll do my best.” He smiles at Kitt again, and Kitt reminds himself that Kieran probably has tons of other friends already.

His new roommate leaves soon after, tells him he’s going to check in with some friends. After a moment’s pause, Kieran asks if he wants to come with, wants to meet his friends, and Kitt tells him no. Kieran promises to have lunch with Kitt, or dinner, some time this week, so they can get to know each other, and Kitt goes along with it for the moment. He almost wishes that he was going along, as he watched that not-maroon shirt disappear through the doorway, but he reminds himself that pity introductions suck ass and he really doesn’t want to deal with that today.

Instead, he takes a few minutes to unpack further (which means that he pulls out the book he’s reading at the moment and sets it on the little bedside table on his side of the room) and then leaves the room himself to go explore campus for a little while.

Kitt likes taking walks. It’s calming, to go outside, especially in places with lots of trees and greenery, and breathe and stop thinking for a little while. He likes places where he can stop his brain. Quiet places in the woods will do that, where all there is is him and the trees, and nothing else—he’s a sucker for spaces where things stop feeling real—and so will antique stores, but walks are more cost and transport-effective. 

If it’d been silent, he probably would’ve just walked, but the space outside his dorm building is busy and  _ bruyante _ (he ponders for a second whether the adjective would be  _ bruyante _ or  _ bruyant _ before deciding that it really doesn’t matter because he doesn’t have to worry about french class for another couple days yet). He puts in earbuds. He uses the time while he’s getting out of the bustling little square to choose a specific playlist. Kitt has a lot of playlists; he enjoys organizing his music into neat little spaces to match his moods. The one he chooses now is called  _ cracked sidewalks and parisian sunlight _ , and it’s mainly just french songs that he vibes with. He can only sing along to two of them, and only vaguely knows the chorus to about five, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s not trying  _ that _ hard to be fluent, and he doesn’t do much singing anyway.

Once he’s cleared the square, and a song that sounds like the background music in some café in Nice has come up on the random shuffle of the playlist, it feels easier to breathe. He keeps walking for a block or so, past groups of chatting students and parents dropping off their kids and random bypassers—because he’s not on campus anymore, he doesn’t think, he’s still not sure exactly where the boundary is, all the streets kind of look the same anyway and he’s only been in this city once before—and eventually, he finds a little park, and sits down on a little concrete bench at the edge of the grass. The trees cheer him up, but he drops his head in his hands and takes a deep breath and feels stranded.

Truth be told, he really doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s majoring in history, maybe to become a teacher, except he hates people and he especially hates teenagers (and kids are tolerable but if he’s gonna be teaching, it’s gonna be on something in-depth, not a child’s first introduction to Christopher-Fucking-Columbus where he has to take out the parts about rape and genocide and allow them to idolize him because the parts where the dashing explorer commits crimes against humanity aren’t child appropriate), which sucks, because he’s a teenager himself and he really didn’t want to be in a school setting past high school, except what is he going to do without a college education when there are people with bachelor’s degrees working in customer service and shit?

Ostensibly, he could work at a museum or some shit, but there are fleets of college graduates every year, and he doubts that some wannabe-misanthrope with an affinity for antiquing is going to be very high on the list of hires.

His mom’s proud of him, at least. That’s great, because he hasn’t actually seen his dad in a few months, and he’s not really sure where he is, and it’s nice to have some sense of security with at least one parent, even if she’s usually busy with book club or work or volunteering.

Kitt’s an only child. People don’t seem to like only children. Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe he can blame the whole thing, the whole situation, on never learning to share as a kid.

His earbuds are playing a song he’s never heard before, now. He doesn’t have enough songs on this playlist, apparently, so Spotify’s added some songs that he didn’t choose and that don’t fit the vibe. It annoys him enough that he pulls his phone out of his pocket and shuffle-plays _ none of the trees are falling today _ instead. Hozier is the first familiar voice to greet him from this playlist.

It’ll be good to be somewhere new, he tells himself. Not that he really has anything to get away from back home. Not that he had anything to have in the first place. College is a fresh start, he thinks, sardonic even in his own head. He knows he’ll do the same thing. Feel the same way here as he did in his piece-of-shit hometown, where the most exciting thing to do was break into the foggy graveyard on his own at night.

Not that anyone would have come along to trespass on a bunch of graves with him. That was sort of the point.

He supposes that he’s glad to be out of there. He knows too many people back home. If nothing else, the anonymity of this big, bustling place will be nice; it’s sort of comforting to know that you’re alone not because you’re being excluded, or because you can’t manage to make friends, but simply because you’re not noticed. It makes staying alone a choice, rather than a necessity. 

College isn’t a fresh start. But it’s a sort of freedom, really—and he’s grateful for it even as his heart sinks, weighed down with thoughts of the future. 


End file.
